


Minor Miracles

by AShortWalkToDelinquency



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Birth, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Car Accidents, Chest Feeding, Family Fluff, Fluff, Labour, M/M, Mpreg, Stranded, contractions, showering together, the kindness of strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29177031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AShortWalkToDelinquency/pseuds/AShortWalkToDelinquency
Summary: They're maybe a half hour into the walk when he starts to notice a dull ache in his lower back and abdomen. And while he's hoping against hope that it's just the strain on his body from hiking in the blizzard, he has a niggling suspicion that it's something else entirely.He brings the hand that's not looped through Gil's arm to his stomach, hoping his daughter can feel the comforting touch through the bulky layers."Hang in there, Sweet Pea," Malcolm says quietly. It feels like the wind is ripping the words straight from his lungs. "I'm so excited to meet you, but I really need you to wait a little longer."
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 40
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!!
> 
> Just want to give you fair warning that this one isn't just a fade to black labour scene. It's nothing overly graphic, but it does have a birthing scene in chapter three.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

The Catskills isn’t exactly their first choice for a vacation spot in the middle of December, but with Malcolm nearly thirty-nine weeks pregnant, it's not like they can fly somewhere tropical. A rental in the Catskills seems like a good compromise to get Malcolm out of the loft for a spell before he's due to give birth, without actually travelling far from home, far from their family and friends and birthing plan.

The trip itself is relaxing and romantic and, surprisingly, turns out to be the perfect getaway. It gives them a chance to reaffirm their love for one another before their worlds are tilted on their axes by the much anticipated arrival of their daughter. 

It's not until the evening they leave, ready to head back to New York City and start their family, that everything goes sideways.

As they're driving home along the Catskill Mountain Scenic Byway, a massive storm system rolls in and leaves them in near white-out conditions. Despite Gil's cautious driving, the car hits a patch of black ice and spins twice on the freeway before hitting the guardrail hard enough to break through, sliding down a shallow embankment. Gil's arm shoots out towards Malcolm even as he tries to regain control of the car, an attempt to hold him back that would make Malcolm chuckle at any other time, except his heart is racing in his chest and his own hands immediately fly to his belly as if he can somehow keep their daughter safe from danger as the world spins and tilts around them.

When the car finally stops, there's a moment where neither man moves, breathes. The pelting snow, the cooling tick of the engine, and the quiet drone of the cassette tape are the only sounds in the small space until Gil releases a shuddering breath and asks, "Are you okay, kid?"

Malcolm continues to hold his breath until he feels a powerful kick just beneath his ribs, letting him know that their sweet pea is safe in there. 

"Yeah," he breathes out. "Yeah, we're good. You?"

Malcolm looks over and sees the fear in his husband's eyes. He knows it's not the near miss of the accident itself, it's the idea that their child could have been injured.

Malcolm himself is only starting to realize exactly what it means to _truly_ worry. Being a parent is going to change everything.

"I'm good," Gil assures him as he shifts in his seat to get a better look at Malcolm. "Are you sure you're alright? Both of you?"

Gil's hand drops to Malcolm's bump, laying warm and solid and reassuring on his belly as both men allow their racing hearts to settle into something resembling normal. When their girl gives another kick against the heat of Gil's hand, Malcolm would swear he can hear a hint of a relieved sob in Gil's answering chuckle.

Unsurprisingly, Gil lets his hand linger for a moment before he turns his attention back to the car and tries to start the engine up. It makes a pitiful wheezing noise but refuses to turn over, no matter how many times Gil tries, no matter how many encouragements the man offers under his breath to his favourite car.

"Okay," Gil rubs a shaking hand over his goatee, "Stay put a minute and I'm gonna check out the damage."

"Gil, I can help check things out," Malcolm protests, but Gil cuts him off before he has a chance to reach into the backseat for his jacket.

"Please, Bright," Gil says, spanning the gap between them and cupping Malcolm's face so gently that it makes Malcolm ache. "Please. Just stay put. Just this once."

Malcolm doesn't need to be a profiler to see that Gil is pretty shaken up. He's also quite sure that knowing Malcolm and their daughter are safe is the only thing that's going to give the man any peace at this point.

"Okay," Malcolm concedes as he leans in and drops a gentle kiss on Gil's lips. "I'll stay here. But be careful."

"Promise," Gil says, sliding a hand around the back of Malcolm's neck to give a reassuring squeeze.

Their winter gear is all in the back seat. It takes a moment for Gil to grab his heavy parka and maneuver it on, and then trade his runners for a sturdy pair of winter boots. Malcolm knows he's trying to get himself ready so he can be in and out of the car as quickly as possible, saving what little heat they have inside in case they're going to be stuck there for a while.

When Gil finally opens the door, the roar of the blizzard is deafening. A powerful gale of wind blows into the car as soon as the door is cracked, making the interior feel like a snow globe and dropping the temperature several degrees in a matter of seconds. Even Malcolm — perpetually hot these days — shivers at the gust.

The door slams behind Gil and, almost immediately, Malcolm loses sight of his husband in the blowing snow.

“Shh,” he whispers and rubs soothing circles over the side of his belly. He’s not sure if it was the rush of adrenaline from the crash or if their baby is picking up on his distress at having lost sight of Gil, but she’s obviously restless, kicking and hitting at whatever part of him she can reach to let him know she's not happy. “Papa’s going to be just fine, Sweet Pea. He’s just finding a way to get us out of this little mess.”

He grunts as she lands a direct hit to his bladder, but after that, she slowly settles down. Enough that he can lean back in his seat and focus more of his attention on spotting Gil in the midst of the unexpected blizzard.

He’s awkwardly twisted around in his seat, trying to look out the back window for any sign of Gil when the door swings open, the hinges screaming as it’s caught by the wind and jerked from Gil’s hand. Malcolm sucks in a surprised breath and waits for Gil to get back in the car and drag the door shut behind him before he asks, “How is it?”

The fact that the engine isn’t even ticking and clunking anymore makes him wonder if he doesn’t already know the answer to that question.

“It’s not good,” Gil huffs as he pushes his hood back and runs a hand over his goatee to shake off the snowflakes that have made a home in his whiskers. “The front end is totalled. And even if we can get it running, I don’t think we can get back on the road. We’re probably fifty feet from the byway and the snow drifts are already deep enough that I could barely walk through them.”

“So now what?” Malcolm cups Gil’s right hand between both of his own and brings them up to his lips, blowing warm air into the tunnel of his hands to try and transfer some heat to Gil’s ice-cold fingers. “Call for a tow and hang out here until it comes?”

“We can give that a try,” Gil says slowly, but Malcolm can tell the man has doubts as to the likelihood of that plan’s success.

“But?” 

“But….I don’t think anything is coming out here in this weather. It’s not safe.” Even as Gil says it, though, he’s pulling his phone from the center console and dialing for help. “Damn it,” he mutters after a moment. “No signal.”

Malcolm grabs his phone from his pocket and notices the same thing. He feels the creeping tendrils of worry begin to spread inside of him. No service means no help. No help means they could be stuck out here until the storm passes.

“Maybe a passing car will stop for us and can send help?” Malcolm suggests. It’s unlikely, he knows, but he needs some hope to hold onto. The road was sparsely populated when they first started the drive. As the weather got worse, it seemed like they were the only ones left driving.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s an option,” Gil says. At Malcolm’s arched eyebrow, he hurries to explain. “I was maybe ten feet from the car before I lost visibility altogether. There’s no way someone is going to see us from the road."

"Okay," Malcolm blows out a breath, trying to keep himself calm in order to keep their daughter calm. "So now what?"

Gil scrubs a hand roughly over his face and Malcolm can tell he's trying to come up with any kind of solution that keeps Malcolm and their daughter safe and comfortable. Since the moment they found out they were pregnant, Malcolm and the baby have been priority number one for Gil, and Malcolm can guess just how worried Gil is about them now.

"I think I saw a B&B a couple miles back, just before we lost visibility," Gil reluctantly offers. "I could hike it and see if someone would be willing to drive me back here to pick you up."

"Gil," Malcolm says, turning in his seat to face his husband more directly. "I love you. And I know you're trying to protect us. But I am _not_ going to sit here while you hike on the side of a highway, alone, in the middle of a blizzard."

"Kid—"

"No. Besides, you don't know for sure that anyone will even be around or willing to drive out here. And then what? You hike back?" Malcolm says in the most reasonable tone of voice he can manage. He's terrified of losing Gil to this storm and he's willing to play dirty to keep that from happening. "You're willing to risk leaving us out here alone?"

He regrets the words the minute Gil's face crumples in a look of pain like Malcolm's never seen before.

"Gil, I'm sorry," Malcolm says, reaching out for his husband's hand and letting out a relieved breath when Gil returns the light press of his fingers. "I just think that it would be better if we stayed together."

"I know, kid," Gil sighs, "but we can't stay here and I hate the idea of you walking through this storm. It's not safe."

It's not safe to stay either, and they both know it. The car is going to turn into a freezer soon, now that the engine is no longer running, and even all of Malcolm's extra blood wouldn't be enough to keep him warm through the night. 

"I'm always safest when I'm with you," Malcolm says honestly.

The small smile that graces Gil's face is a salve to the hurt that Malcolm unintentionally caused them both. 

"Okay." The resolve that hardens Gil's features tells Malcolm that they're about to move. "There's no point hanging around here. The sooner we start, the sooner we'll get to that B&B. I want you putting on every bit of warm clothing we have before we head out. I'll go grab our bags from the trunk so we can put some sweaters under our jackets."

Malcolm merely nods his agreement. Retaining as much body heat as they can will be important for them both.

It feels like the last of the heat in the car is siphoned out as soon as Gil opens the door, and Malcolm can't stop the shiver that rattles his frame. Even though Gil shuts the door behind him right away, by the time he gets back, Malcolm is uncomfortably chilly and looking forward to donning a few of the sweaters from his bag.

"Layer as much as you can," Gil says as he passes Malcolm's suitcase over to lay gently on his knees. Then he sits back in the driver's seat with his own duffle in front of him and slams the door closed with no small degree of effort. "Put on extra socks, too. It's going to be important to keep our extremities bundled."

It's awkward getting socks on at the best of times. Trying to do it in the cramped car with a suitcase on his lap is decidedly _not_ the best of times. His stomach is large enough at this point in his pregnancy that pretty much all of his movements are laboured and clumsy and he huffs out a frustrated breath as he tries to tug on a second set of socks. 

"Hey," Gil says quietly, "It's gonna be okay. Focus on the sweaters for now and I'll help you with the socks and boots, okay?"

Gil leans across the space between their seats and lands a kiss on Malcolm's temple, and Malcolm immediately feels the tension drain from his body. Gil has a way of calming Malcolm, centering him, with a simple touch or a few quiet words and Malcolm counts his lucky stars once again that he and Gil were able to find one another in this life.

"Yeah," Malcolm whispers. "Thanks."

He switches to sweaters, managing to tug a pullover and a cardigan (one of Gil's that he's long since commandeered and claimed as his own) over the long sleeve Henley he's currently wearing. 

"Give me a change of clothes and your meds to throw in my duffle and I'll carry it with us. We're gonna be cold and wet once we get there," Gil says, always thinking ahead.

In a matter of minutes, Gil's bag contains a change of clothes for them both, along with all of the absolute necessities. Everything else is tossed into Malcolm's suitcase, which Gil shifts into the back seat. All that's left is Malcolm's footwear.

"I'll come around and help with your socks and boots. Are you ready to go once they're on?" Gil's bundled up like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man (Malcolm's sure he must look similar, himself), with a couple of sweaters now bulking him up beneath his jacket and a pair of sweatpants over his slacks.

Malcolm can't stop the chuckle that bubbles up in his chest as he looks at him. The laughter, apparently, is contagious, and soon Gil is laughing right along with him.

"You know, when we talked about taking a vacation, I was really hoping for the chance to get you _out of_ your clothes, not into even more of them," Malcolm smiles widely.

It's not like he can complain, really. They certainly spent a good portion of their mini-vacation naked and wrapped up in each other's arms. And having Gil to himself for an entire five days meant no interruptions and no pesky 'work day' pulling Gil away from a very...amorous Malcolm.

"Oh, I know," Gil laughs, one of those genuine bursts of amusement that crinkles his eyes and warms Malcolm's heart. "When we get back home, I promise we can have a naked movie night."

Those always end one way, and Malcolm is just fine with that.

"I'm going to hold you to that."

"I sure hope so," Gil says, leaning in to kiss the smile right off of Malcolm's lips before pulling back and turning serious. "Alright city boy, let's do this."

Gil grabs the duffle bag and throws his door open, heading back out into the blasting snow. It's only a few seconds before he's around to Malcolm's side, pulling open the door and dropping to a crouch in the opening. With Gil's help, Malcolm spins and drapes his feet out of the car, letting Gil remove his shoes and throw on two additional pairs of socks and his winter boots.

"You good, sweetheart?" Gil has to shout to be heard over the roaring storm and even still, the wind tries to steal the words right from his mouth.

"Sure thing, let's go," Malcolm shouts back.

Gil pushes to his feet then helps to pull Malcolm up from his seat before tossing the duffle bag over his shoulder. Malcolm takes hold of Gil's proffered arm as soon as he's out of the car, immediately understanding why Gil didn't like the idea of Malcolm being out in the middle of the blizzard. 

Gil wasn't kidding when he said the snow drifts were deep. As they climb up the embankment, there are sections where the snow is already as high as Malcolm's thighs, though they try to circle around those drifts as best they can. Even while avoiding the deepest drifts, though, the gale-force winds and unrelenting snow leave Malcolm winded and feeling more exhausted than he'd care to admit by the time they manage to climb up to the road.

And progress — even after they make their way back up to the byway — is astonishingly slow. In order to backtrack to the B&B, they need to walk directly into the wind, and it's considerably more difficult than Malcolm was expecting. The wind nearly knocks him over with every step he takes. 

If he wasn't nine months pregnant, he's sure it wouldn't be quite so challenging, but his center of gravity — and therefore his balance — is a little off-kilter with his new body shape. If it weren't for Gil's steadying presence at his side he's sure he would have been blown over at least a dozen times within the first few minutes of their hike.

Without the relative shelter of the embankment and the car, talking is out of the question. Malcolm tries, just once, to shout at Gil, asking if he's sure they're going the right way (visibility is approximately an arm-length away and Malcolm can't even tell if they're on the road half the time). After a frustrating — and time-consuming — minute or two of yelling back and forth, they give it up as a lost cause.

And so Malcolm keeps a tight hold on Gil's arm, gripping even harder when his footing gives way to the hidden patches of ice on the asphalt. They keep their heads down and hoods up, trying to prevent any more heat loss than necessary while at the same time providing less surface area for the wind to act upon. Even still, the going is tough and Malcolm can feel the chill of the wind through the layers of clothes as it settles into his bones.

It doesn't take long before his skin is stinging and his ears are ringing and his body racked by shivers, despite the fact that he's sweating from exertion.

Basically, he's miserable.

But still he pushes on, because there's really no other choice. 

They're maybe a half hour into the walk when he starts to notice a dull ache in his lower back and abdomen. And while he's hoping against hope that it's just the strain on his body from hiking in the blizzard, he has a niggling suspicion that it's something else entirely.

He brings the hand that's not looped through Gil's arm to his stomach, hoping his daughter can feel the comforting touch through the bulky layers. 

"Hang in there, Sweet Pea," Malcolm says quietly. It feels like the wind is ripping the words straight from his lungs. "I'm so excited to meet you, but I really need you to wait a little longer."

He knows Gil can't hear him, and he's thankful for it. The last thing he wants is to worry his husband any more than he already is. As it stands, he can feel the tension thrumming through Gil's body as they walk and he doesn't need to be a profiler to know that every thought in the man's mind right now concerns the safety of Malcolm and their daughter.

He gives Gil's arm a reassuring squeeze and his husband pauses to look over at him, silently asking if everything is okay. Malcolm moves his hood out of the way and leans in to kiss him briefly on the lips, smiling when he feels a little of the stress drain from Gil's body at the simple token of affection. Malcolm smiles in an attempt to assure him that everything is going to be alright, though the message is sabotaged by a patch of ice that would've left Malcolm sprawled on the pavement if it wasn't for Gil's firm grip and speedy reflexes.

"Bright!" Gil shouts as he gets Malcolm righted on his feet, with one hand on either arm holding him steady. "Are you okay?"

Malcolm doesn't hear the words over the wind, but he knows exactly what Gil is asking. Instead of attempting to answer, he links his arm back with Gil's, tugging him towards the B&B. The storm seems to be getting worse, rather than better, and Malcolm is starting to worry about whether or not they're going to get there at all. With the visibility so poor, he's concerned that, even if they can walk that far, there's a very real possibility that they'll miss the turn off and overshoot their mark.

But that's not going to stop him from pressing on.

They need to bend nearly in half to cut the drag of the wind for the remainder of their journey, and Malcolm's back protests the change in position almost immediately. The extra weight of his pregnancy suddenly feels like a thousand pounds as he walks hunched over with his belly hanging low and full towards the ground.

But when the ache in his back receives an answering echo in his abdomen, a cramp that flows from the top of his belly all the way to his groin, he knows that it isn't just the awkward position that's making him ache so fiercely. 

"Really, Sweet Pea? Now?" The cramping leaves Malcolm gritting his teeth and grasping at his stomach and then abruptly cursing the movement as it draws Gil's attention. 

"What's wrong?" Gil shouts into the night, loud enough that Malcolm can actually hear it, can hear the panic in the words.

Malcolm has to suck in a bracing breath before he can answer, the cold air pelting his lungs as he does, and even then he needs to lean right up against Gil's ear to make sure he hears him.

"We have time," Malcolm tries to yell but doesn't have the same power to his words as Gil's booming voice, "but I think our daughter is ready to meet us."

Gil pulls back but keeps his hands firm on Malcolm's arms — his grip tight even through layers of mittens, jacket, sweaters, and shirt — as he looks in Malcolm's eyes to make sure he heard that right, that the wind isn't playing tricks with his hearing.

Malcolm has seen pretty much every emotion on his husband's face in the twenty-some years that they've known one another, but the panic he witnesses now is something entirely new and it makes Malcolm's heart patter uncomfortably in his chest.

"It's okay," Malcolm tries to reassure him but the words are still forming on his lips when Gil darts to his side and wraps one arm around his back while simultaneously crouching down to slip the other beneath his thighs, and suddenly Malcolm is being hauled up into Gil's strong arms with a startled, "Oh!"

He'd protest but he knows a losing battle when he sees one. Especially when it comes to Gil.

And Malcolm is shocked at how fast they're moving now. Considering Gil is supporting Malcolm's not-inconsiderable weight, keeping his balance on the slick asphalt, and basically waging a war against the white-out that seems intent on stranding them in the middle of nowhere, the man is making damn good time as his determination more than makes up for the appalling conditions.

As much as Malcolm would like to help ease his load, he knows it's out of the question. With more than a little guilt bubbling up inside of him, he wraps his arms around Gil's neck and buries his face in the shoulder of his parka, grateful for the break from the biting winds.

He gives Gil a light squeeze to let him know they're okay, but he knows Gil is beating himself up for insisting they make the hike to the B&B and for losing control of the car in the first place. It's not as if Malcolm can hear him berating himself, but he can feel the rumble of his words where he's pressed up against Gil's chest.

The pressure on his back feels better now that he's off his feet, but that dull ache is still there, reminding him that they need to find shelter. Soon.

And like his prayers have been answered, the storm lets up.

It's just for a second or two, just long enough for Malcolm to see the B&B over Gil's shoulder.

They missed the turn off.

Malcolm doesn't even want to consider what would have happened if the storm hadn't broken for those few measly seconds, if he hadn't been looking over Gil's shoulder at the exact right moment.

Malcolm's life has never afforded him the luxury of believing in miracles. But right now, he thinks he may just have to reconsider.


	2. Chapter 2

"Gil!" Malcolm yells, his voice sounding abnormally loud in the sudden stillness.

By the time Malcolm tries to explain, to gesture over his shoulder and show Gil the small, snow covered building, the storm is raging once again, stronger now than ever before. Malcolm ends up shimmying in Gil's grip until Gil reluctantly sets his feet on the ground, then Malcolm takes hold of his hand and drags him along towards the hidden turn off that they'd only just missed.

Less than five minutes later, they catch sight of a light in a window, breaking the monotony of the swirling white that's been eclipsing their world for what feels like hours. Malcolm thinks he's never seen a sight more beautiful.

They stumble for the front door and Gil jerks it open, gesturing Malcolm inside before following right after, and the door slams behind them with a bang that nearly has Malcolm jumping out of his skin.

The abrupt silence as the door cuts off the storm outside leaves Malcolm feeling oddly off-balance all of a sudden, without the whistling winds screaming in his ears. The surprised set of Gil's features when Malcolm turns to look at him, leads Malcolm to believe his husband is feeling the same way. Gil snaps out of it quickly enough, though, ripping off his mittens and tossing them to the floor

"Bright, are you okay? Is she?" Gil is tugging at the zipper of Malcolm's parka, haste and frozen fingers making his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. Malcolm doesn't even get a chance to answer before they're made aware that they're no longer alone.

"Oh my goodness, look at you both!" A pleasant voice with a slight accent that Malcolm can't quite place floats over from the room just left of the entrance way. It's obvious she's trying to keep to a hushed tone, but is worried enough about her unexpected visitors that her voice carries through the space. "You look frozen right down to the marrow, you do!"

The owner of the voice follows along in short order. She's an older woman, probably in her mid-60s, if Malcolm had to guess, short and plump with a sea of cascading white hair tucked up on either side with jewelled hair combs. She has an air of kindness about her that seems to radiate from deep within.

Malcolm likes her immediately.

"Come in, come in!" She ushers them through the little lobby towards the back of the house, into a kitchen that has far too many pots on the stove and the enticing smell of bread drifting from the industrial sized oven. Malcolm glances at his watch, noticing it's going on midnight and wondering why exactly she's cooking so late. She notices his confusion and, with a twinkle in her eye, says, "One can never have enough food on hand during a blizzard."

Gil seems oblivious to their surroundings, to their host, to everything but Malcolm's belly and the precious cargo inside as he stops in front of Malcolm once again and finally gets the parka undone, pushing it hastily off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor without a second thought. "We need to call for a doctor. Maybe see if an ambulance can get through the storm."

"Oh my, is there a problem?" The kindly woman looks genuinely concerned, her eyes widening as Malcolm's parka is removed, the bulk of the fabric no longer trying to conceal just how pregnant he really is. "Oh my. You're quite far along, aren't you, love?"

Malcolm grabs hold of Gil's fussing hands to try to slow his frantic movements, smiling at them both as he says, "Yes. It seems like our baby girl has chosen today to start her journey into the world. But everything is fine. My water hasn't even broken yet. It could be days before she actually comes. So there's no need to panic."

He looks between them, but all three of them seem to realize that the reassurances are for Gil and Gil alone.

It takes a moment but Gil finally squeezes his hands, then lets them go, taking half a step back and scrubbing his palms over his face in a clear attempt to get himself under control. Malcolm decides to allow him a moment to himself and turns to their host.

"I'm Malcolm, by the way," he says, reaching a hand out in greeting, "and the worrywart over here is my husband, Gil."

The woman has a deep belly laugh that's warmer than the already toasty kitchen. She shakes Malcolm's hand with a firm grip as she introduces herself in return. "I'm Amelia, and it's a pleasure to meet you both. Can I get you a cup of hot cocoa? Or maybe some soup? There'll be a fresh loaf of bread for dipping in, oh, fifteen minutes or so, if that happens to sway you towards the soup."

Malcolm looks to Gil and thinks that the man could certainly use a hearty meal after the stress of the accident, the hike, and carrying Malcolm for a good portion of the journey. 

"If it's not too much of a hassle, a bowl of soup would be delightful," Malcolm smiles.

Amelia glances to Gil and then tosses Malcolm a quick wink before heading over to the fridge, pulling out a bucket of what looks to be a homemade chicken noodle soup. "Why don't you two get some of those layers off and get washed up, and I'll have this ready in just a jif. There's a bathroom down the hall — can't miss it, we walked past on our way to the kitchen — and some spare towels on the shelf so you can dry off. Looks like you boys were out there for hours."

"Thank you, Amelia," Malcolm says, then quickly turns to Gil. "I'll go first, since _someone_ already helped me get partially undressed."

Gil still has his parka on, the faux-fur trimmed hood still up around his face, having been far too focused on Malcolm to worry about his own outerwear. The way Gil tilts his head, the tight pull of his lips, it's clear that he's about to object to Malcolm going off on his own, but Malcolm shoots him his patented you're-being-an-overprotective-husband-slash-expectant-father look and, much to his credit, Gil backs down immediately.

A quick smile lets Gil know he's not in hot water for turning into a protective papa bear; really, Malcolm thinks, if ever there was a valid reason for Gil to be worried, the events of tonight would be it.

Without another word he walks down the short hallway to the bathroom and closes the door behind him with a quiet snick.

Then he doubles over with one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other clutching the antique farmhouse vanity with a white-knuckled grip. He uses the Lamaze breathing he learned in class — though at a far, _far_ lower volume than what they'd practiced, when he and Gil had laughed at the ridiculous sounds and rhythms — to ease himself through the contraction that slams into him. 

It's possible that, perhaps, their daughter is making an earlier entrance than he'd let on in the kitchen.

It's not that he wants to hide it from Gil. That would be an exercise in futility with how close the man will be hovering tonight. But Malcolm would really like to get a warm bowl of soup into his husband and give him a moment to find his calm before he fills him in on just how soon their lives are going to change.

And Malcolm doesn't doubt that their birthing plan has gone up in smoke. He knows that there's no way an ambulance is going to make it out there tonight, not with the storm still raging outside. Which means there's a very real possibility that they'll be delivering this baby in a B&B in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the largest snowstorm he's ever witnessed.

It's...terrifying, honestly. But he fully intends to keep a level head and make sure that they do everything they possibly can to ensure their daughter comes into this world safe and sound and knowing that her daddy and her papa love her more than anything.

"Malcolm?" The light tap at the door comes at the same time as Gil's worried voice. 

He must've been in there longer than he'd thought.

Malcolm can't answer quite yet — he's still trying to breathe through the wave of cramps that are ringing his insides like a dishcloth — so he reaches over and flushes the toilet to buy himself a few more seconds. 

It doesn't work.

Gil nudges the door open (and Malcolm can only roll his eyes and curse himself for not locking the damn thing when he first walked in) and pokes his head through the opening. As soon as he sees Malcolm, though, he's pushing his way into the snug little room, awkwardly maneuvering himself around the door to avoid knocking into Malcolm, dropping down to his knees next to Malcolm's hunched form. 

The room is a half bath, just the toilet, the vanity, and a small, tiered shelf — housing candles and flowers and twine-wrapped vintage books that perfectly reflect the warm, homey feeling of the woman who is currently making two complete strangers soup in the middle of the night — and there was barely enough room in there for Malcolm. It's a tight fit, but Malcolm is immediately grateful for Gil's presence as he instinctively slips his hand beneath Malcolm's layers to land warm and soothing on his lower back, rubbing gentle circles that help his aching muscles to relax. 

"How are your hands so warm?" Malcolm sighs and lets his eyes flutter closed. His own hands are still close to frozen from being outside for so long, but Gil's feel like a damn hot water bottle and it's glorious.

Gil huffs out an amused breath. " _That's_ what we're focusing on right now?"

Malcolm's muscles are all slowly beginning to relax and he's pretty sure the worst of the pain has passed. For now.

"Have something more important you feel like discussing?" Malcolm teases as he slowly straightens himself up. Gil stays knelt next to him, one hand on Malcolm's lower back the other moving to rest low on his belly. 

"I can think of a thing or two," Gil attempts to mimic Malcolm's easygoing vibe, but there's a worry line between his eyebrows that betrays just how distressed he really is. Malcolm doesn't think twice about leaning down to kiss it away and Gil looks up with a sad smile. "Kid, the phone lines are down and there's no cell service. We're stuck here until the storm passes."

It's not surprising, but he still feels a twinge of disappointment at the confirmation that he was correct.

"Then I guess we should go eat some soup." Malcolm takes just a moment longer to appreciate the warmth of Gil's hands as it seeps through his skin and, he hopes, works to calm their daughter as much as it calms him. 

"Bright, I am so sorry," Gil whispers as he leans in and rests his forehead against the baby bump.

"Gil—" Malcolm says, but his stubborn husband cuts him off before he can say another word.

"It's not just the accident. We shouldn't have even been on the road at all, not with a storm coming in. And I shouldn't have let you walk all that way. The stress can't have been good for you or the baby."

Malcolm blows out a breath and runs his hand through Gil's hair, lightly massaging Gil's scalp with his fingertips as he goes. He has a sneaking suspicion their baby girl was intending on making her grand entrance tonight, whether they'd been stranded or not, but he knows that won't help Gil feel any better.

"Gil," Malcolm waits for his husband to look up before he continues, speaking softly, "none of this is your fault. And everything is going to be fine."

He won't accept anything else.

Gil smiles up at him and Malcolm offers a hand to help him off the floor, which Gil grabs hold of, pressing a kiss to Malcolm's knuckles, just above his wedding band. Gil, of course, refuses to actually allow Malcolm to help him up, but he also refuses to let go of Malcolm's hand, giving it a light squeeze before he starts to lead them from the bathroom.

Malcolm stops him with a chuckle, still needing to use the facilities, and Gil's answering laugh is music to Malcolm's ears. They don't bother leaving the room while each of them empties their bladders and washes up, maneuvering around each other flawlessly just like they do at home.

By the time they get back to the kitchen, Amelia has two piping hot bowls of soup laid out on the table, with slices of fresh baked bread between them.

"Is everything alright, dear?" she asks as Malcolm walks in with his hands on his lower back, massaging away the ache that seems to have settled in his hips.

"Everything is fine, Amelia," Malcolm says as he lowers himself into the chair that Gil pulls out for him. "And this looks delicious. Thank you very much."

"Oh, it's my pleasure!" Amelia insists as she pulls out a chair and joins them at the table. "I'm just glad you were able to make it here in this storm. Your husband tells me it was quite the jaunt to get here."

"It was an experience, that's for sure," Malcolm laughs. Now that he's settled down in the warmth of the well-loved and well-used kitchen, the combined heat from all the burners, the oven, even the furnace that's running non-stop, have him sweating through his layers of clothes, feeling suddenly overheated. 

As he starts to shrug out of his cardigan and pullover, Gil jumps up to help him remove the excess layers before he's even managed to tug the first sweater off. Amelia catches Malcolm's eye as Gil fusses about him, smirking at the especially attentive behaviour, though there's a softness in her eyes that betrays her approval of his actions.

Malcolm's own smile is wide enough to plump his cheeks, long since used to his husband's gallantry, which magnified tenfold once they found out Malcolm was carrying their child. "It's our first baby. He has a tendency to go overboard," he says by way of explanation. Gil huffs a breath through his nose but smiles all the same and drapes Malcolm's cardigan over the back of his chair (no doubt keeping it handy for if Malcolm gets chilly again), then tucks his pullover into the duffle bag that's stashed up against the wall. 

Once they're all squared away, Malcolm licks his lips and turns his attention to the soup in front of him. He wasn't just being polite earlier. It looks — and smells — delicious, and frankly, he's starving.

Gil takes a mouthful first, giving Malcolm an almost imperceptible nod once he's swallowed it down. In the nearly three years they've been together, Gil's developed a sixth sense about foods that Malcolm will be able to handle and which he won't be able to tolerate. The tiny nod is an affirmation that Malcolm will be fine to dig in.

Which he does.

For exactly three spoonfuls.

Then he drops his spoon to the table with a clatter, one hand flying to his stomach as the other grips the table's edge, waiting for the cramping to pass. 

Thankfully, this one doesn't hurt quite so bad or last quite so long, and sooner than he'd expected, he's taking deep breaths, trying to calm both himself and his daughter. And, of course, when he opens his eyes, Gil is knelt next to him once again, one hand massaging his lower back while the other rests comfortingly on his bump.

"I'm fine," Malcolm hurries to assure him, but the crease doesn't fade from between his eyebrows. "We're _both_ fine." 

"Oh, dear," Amelia says with a warmth that Malcolm can't help but smile at. "How far apart are they?"

Malcolm hasn't been timing the contractions (and kicks himself for not thinking to do so earlier), but he's always had a pretty good grasp on gauging the time and trusts himself to make an educated guess.

"I think about twenty minutes," he says, observing the way Gil's lips pull tight at the statement. He knows Gil is silently berating himself for not having timed it earlier, though he checks his watch now to be ready for the next one. Malcolm slides his hand to Gil's cheek, running a thumb over his perfect cheekbone, "If we were home, we wouldn't even be heading to the hospital yet."

Gil huffs a breath but takes the hint. He drops a quick kiss to Malcolm's belly and then pushes to his feet and settles back in his chair, keeping a close eye on Malcolm the entire time.

Amelia smiles at the exchange and helps Malcolm push his point home. "You really do have a ways to go, love. Perhaps the storm will even be over by the time you're ready to give birth."

Malcolm's luck rarely sways that close to 'good', though the clear exceptions to that are sitting right next to him and curled in his belly, so he's not ready to dismiss all optimism just yet. He knows they'll just have to hope for the best and prepare for the worst, and have faith that everything will turn out just fine either way.

"Here's hoping," Malcolm says, holding up crossed fingers for good luck before diving back into his bowl of soup. He opts to avoid the chicken, and even the majority of the noodles, focusing his attention on the broth instead. He has a feeling that the contractions might make it difficult to keep things down as they progress, and he doesn't want to risk throwing up chunks of chicken if he can help it. 

There's a twinge of guilt for wasting the delicious fare that Amelia has so kindly provided, but he suspects she'll understand.

And maybe he can get Gil to eat his leftover bits.

Gil is mechanically eating the soup in front of him, but Malcolm would be willing to bet he's hardly tasting it with how worried he is about Malcolm and their daughter. 

He wishes he could take away some of that fear.

All he can do, though, is settle into a calming bit of small talk with Amelia to try and help draw Gil out of his head a little. It has the added bonus of giving Malcolm himself something to focus on besides his pending labour, and he finds that the more he learns about their host, the more he likes her.

"Have you been running this B&B long?" Malcolm asks as he blows on a spoonful of broth.

"Oh, yes. My husband, Liam, and I opened up here nearly forty years ago, as a matter of fact." Amelia smiles with a fondness that tells Malcolm more about her feelings towards her husband than a conversation ever could. "Every penny we managed to save went into buying this house and fixing it up."

Malcolm smiles at the woman, encouraging her to continue with little more than a nod. She seems to understand his ploy to draw Gil out of himself and happily plays along.

"It was difficult at the beginning, let me tell you," she laughs and mimes bringing a spoon to her lips, encouraging him to eat more soup. Malcolm actually does, much to Gil's surprise. It's subtle, but Malcolm notices the way Gil's eyebrow darts up when Malcolm wordlessly follows her instructions. "Starting a business together is hard work, especially when you live there. We've been in the same house nearly every hour of every day for almost forty years. Well, you can imagine the strain, especially when times are tough."

Malcolm and Gil both chuckle, knowing all too well how difficult that can be. They, of course, have more time apart, but living together and occasionally working together has certainly been a challenge at times.

"But we made it through," Amelia smiles, "and I love that old coot more every day, let me tell you."

"Is Liam around?" Gil asks, slowing down a little, savouring his soup rather than mindlessly eating it as he listens to Amelia speak.

She deflates a little, worry knotting her features. "No. He went to go check on my sister just before the storm, making sure she has everything she needs in case it was as bad as he was suspecting. She's about a forty minute drive north, you see, and lives on her own. But the storm started rolling in before he could get back and he had to stay put."

"At least you know he's safe there," Malcolm offers. He knows just how horrible he'd feel if he were separated from Gil right now and sympathizes with the woman. 

"That's right, love," Amelia smiles at him. "And I know Fiona will be safe through the storm with him there. That's my sister, you see. And I have a house-full to keep me company while he's away."

"Full house?" Malcolm asks between sips of broth.

"There was a school bus that broke down not far from here, a few hours before the storm. Unfortunately they couldn't get the repairs done in time, so I have eighteen twelve-year-olds, a teacher and two chaperones spending the night," she laughs, and suddenly the midnight cooking makes a little more sense. "The house hasn't been this full since...well, ever. We only have four rooms to let here, so they're sleeping on couches and floors. I even gave up Liam's and my room for the night to sleep a few more."

He sees the realization settle heavy on Gil's face as it occurs to him as well. There's no room for them here.

"Don't you worry, love, we'll find you a place to settle in," Amelia assures him, picking up on the tense look shared between the two men. "But first, eat your soup."

Malcolm does manage a few more spoonfuls but then nudges his bowl over to Gil, still half-full. He garners two concerned looks in response, but Gil seems to understand quickly that nothing is wrong, per se, it's just a matter of labour and food not meshing well.

When Gil makes to put his spoon down as well, Malcolm stops him with a gentle hand on his forearm. "Please keep eating. Amelia was kind enough to prepare our meals. At least one of us needs to finish it."

A reluctant agreement, Malcolm decides, is better than no agreement at all. So they sit around the table and chat while Gil finishes his own soup and Malcolm's as well. Their host tells them tales of the B&B as she cooks at the stove, Gil provides Amelia with some insight into their lives, and Malcolm breathes through another contraction. It's almost one in the morning before they decide to call it a night.

"Now, I have an idea for where to set you up for the night," Amelia says, getting to her feet and checking on the few items that are still cooking. "It's not perfect, but it will give you more privacy than anything else."

Privacy sounds amazing. Malcolm's been dreading the idea of a bus load of kids listening to him give birth since Amelia first mentioned them.

"Liam and I have been outfitting the old barn out back as a honeymoon suite. You know, for couples who come out this way to enjoy the scenery. It's not quite finished — we're hoping to have it open for the spring — but it's been insulated and fixed with heating, and the plumbing works, too."

Beggar's can't be choosers, Malcolm thinks as he nods and offers a sincere thanks to the woman. A barn is a step up from giving birth in the car, at least.

"Let me just go grab some sheets and towels and then I'll take you back."

Malcolm stands up and stretches his back out, waiting until Amelia's footsteps fade away before he turns to Gil and deadpans, "No room in the inn? Sleeping in the barn? Gil, I draw the line at placing our baby in a manger."

Gil's bark of laughter echoes through the kitchen and he slaps a hand over his mouth at the sudden burst of noise in the otherwise silent house, and Malcolm finds himself leaning over the table, shaking with repressed laughter as he tries to keep himself from following suit.

"Kid," Gil whispers through the chuckle that's still rumbling through him. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

As soon as Malcolm straightens up, he finds himself wrapped up in Gil's arms, light kisses peppering his face, sweeping over cheekbones and eyelids and settling on his lips with a softness that makes him feel like he's floating.

"I mean, I'm not gonna complain if you say it again." Malcolm melts into the embrace, feeling Gil's strength and love infusing him at the simple contact. It's silly, he knows, but even after being together for three years, hearing those words from Gil still fills him with an unparalleled warmth.

"I love you, Bright." Gil's laughter fades away, but the soft smile stays behind. "So damn much."

"I love you, too."

When Amelia comes back into the room, carrying a large cloth bag full of sheets and towels, they're still standing to the side of the kitchen, Malcolm enfolded in Gil's arms, in Gil's warmth.

"Alright boys, let's get you settled in, hmm?" Amelia says, an approving smile sitting firmly on her face. "Unfortunately, we'll have to get bundled up to get out there. We're planning on building a covered walkway, but I'm sorry to say we haven't gotten that far, yet."

"That's quite alright, Amelia," Gil says, pulling back just enough to wrap an arm around Malcolm's shoulders, keeping steady contact between them. "We just appreciate you finding a place for us to spend the night. We'll pay for the room, of course. 

"Nonsense," Amelia waves him off, setting down the bag and pulling on a pair of winter boots from the closet next to the back door, laughing quietly as she adds, "You can be our test run newlywed couple for the suite!"

Malcolm doesn't argue now (he knows they'll be leaving more than enough for the room, and doesn't doubt that Gil will leave a generous tip for the kindness Amelia has shown them, as well), moving instead to slip on his sweater and jacket.

With help from Gil to get his boots back on, they're soon spanning the short distance from the B&B to the small barn behind it and Amelia is unlocking the door and leading them in.

"Wow," Malcolm stops only a few steps in, abruptly enough that Gil bumps into him as he pulls the door shut behind them and then spins to follow Amelia and Malcolm.

It's...beautiful.


	3. Chapter 3

The space still has the lofted ceilings and general shape of a barn, but that's where the resemblance ends. Everything has been insulated, drywalled, and painted a soothing shade of blueish-grey that instantly makes Malcolm feel comfortable, though the heavy beams along the roof still keep a delightfully rustic charm that Malcolm falls in love with immediately. A massive chandelier hangs in the middle of the ceiling, the crystals refracting fragments of light through the room and brightening the large, open-concept space more than he would've thought possible.

"Liam just finished painting a few days back," Amelia explains as she starts to pull the plastic off all of the furniture that's gathered in the middle of the room. There are still dropcloths lining the edges of the space on two sides, quite obviously protecting the hardwood floor from wayward droplets of the recently applied paint. "I know the set up in here isn't quite what you'd expect, but I think moving the heavier pieces back to their proper spots is out of the question just now."

Heavy lifting is definitely not in the cards for Malcolm, and he doesn't think Amelia should be lifting much either. It's fine though, because even with the bed, dresser, sofa, and quaint dining set all pushed together in the center of the room, it's still perfect.

"This is lovely." Malcolm finally makes his way into the room, Gil's hand steady on his back as they move as one into the beautiful space.

"Now, the flooring hasn't been laid in the bathroom, but I brought a couple of bath mats to lay down, hopefully that will do for now." Even as she speaks, she's pulling two cream coloured rugs from her bag, walking into a room at the side of the barn, only stopping to tap at the thermostat on the way, the heat kicking on immediately at her touch. As she flicks on the light in the bathroom, even from where he's standing, Malcolm can see the bathroom has been rather lavishly decorated, and he can't help but be impressed. 

He'd stay here in a heartbeat. As a matter of fact, he's already considering booking them a weekend here once everything has settled down. Maybe for Gil's birthday.

"Amelia, this is amazing," Gil says as he leads Malcolm to the sofa and practically pushes him down despite the eye roll it earns him. Once again, Gil is knelt down in front of him, unzipping his parka and pulling off his boots.

"Well, thank you," Amelia positively beams as she makes her way back into the main room — which Malcolm can tell will serve as a living room, kitchenette, and bedroom when all is said and done — and starts to make the bed. "Liam has done almost all of it by himself, though he brought someone in for the electrical. He likes to keep busy, Liam does, and there's nothing he likes more than—Oh, you go sit with your husband," she shoos Gil away as he heads over to help with the bedding.

Gil holds his hands up in surrender and joins Malcolm on the couch that's tucked against the headboard of the four-poster bed, an amused smile on his face.

"Now, you should have everything you need in here, I hope, but if there's anything else you find yourselves needing, you just come find me. I've brought you a complimentary toiletry kit and a slew of extra towels, just in case." She casts a glance at Malcolm’s belly as she finishes tucking the sheets onto the bed. He knows they're all hoping the extra towels won't be necessary. She finishes making up the bed and putting the towels in the bathroom before she comes back to the sofa and sits next to Malcolm, taking his hand in between both of hers. "We still have power for now, and we have two generators out back, as well, so we should be set for the night. I imagine you'd like to be alone, but if you need an extra pair of hands, you just give a holler and I'll come running, alright love?"

"Thank you, Amelia. You've been so kind and—" Malcolm doubles over as cramps split his midsection, blindly reaching out for Gil as his body attempts to rip itself open from the inside.

"Breathe, sweetheart." Gil's voice floats through the haze of pain but it's surprisingly difficult to force out the air that's trapped in his lungs. "Come on, kid. Just like we practiced."

Once he pushes out that first breath, the next comes easier and soon he's breathing the way he's practiced as Gil's hand slips beneath the back of his shirt and rubs slow circles on his lower back.

Though it feels like an eternity, the contraction passes soon enough and Malcolm leans into Gil as his body releases the tension. He feels a bit like a wet noodle.

"Thank you Amelia," Gil says quietly, still massaging his back. "I think we'll be okay. But if you happen to notice the phones working, I would appreciate it if you could call an ambulance for us."

"Of course, dear," Amelia says to Gil while patting Malcolm's knee. "Is there anything else I can help with?"

"Sweetheart, is there anything else you need?" Gil asks, the words coming out hushed and muffled where his lips are pressed to Malcolm's hair.

Right now, all Malcolm wants to do is get his damn pants off and cuddle up next to Gil. Maybe even ask for him to continue that massage, because it feels like heaven and it's actually helping his muscles to relax.

"I'm good. Thank you, Amelia." He even manages to look up and offer a grateful smile for everything she's done.

"Alright then, love." Amelia pats his leg before pushing to her feet. "Good luck to you both."

She leaves them without another word, and suddenly they're alone in a barn in the middle of nowhere and Malcolm can't help but laugh a little at the absurdity of the situation.

"Care to share what's so funny?"

Malcolm pulls away from Gil's chest and sucks in a deep breath. He knows he has a lot to do and a short period of time before the next contraction hits, so it's best to get going. Gil is on his feet immediately as soon as Malcolm starts to lever himself up, giving him a hand to get him upright.

"Just not how I expected our night to go, is all," Malcolm huffs as he straightens up and a dull ache braces across his back. "Not how I expected labour to go down, either."

"How can I help?" Gil asks quietly.

"You can help me get some of these layers off. Especially the pants."

Gil doesn't hesitate. The barn is already relatively warm, and only heating up further as the furnace works to reach the temperature Amelia set it to when they walked in. He slips his fingers beneath the edges of Malcolm's cardigan and slides it slowly down his arms.

Malcolm knows Gil's not making a move, and God knows he's not looking to start anything himself (for a change), but a tingle shoots down his spine at the motion regardless. 

Gil, of course, notices right away.

"Really? Now?" Gil chuckles, tugging the sweater from Malcolm's wrists and tossing it onto the sofa.

"What?" Malcolm starts tugging his pants down before Gil's even straightened back up. The thick elastic band on his maternity pants bothers the sensitive skin on his stomach most days, but since his labour pains began, it's nearly unbearable. "Don't act like you're surprised," Malcolm laughs lightly as Gil crouches down to pull his pants and socks off, holding him steady as he lifts one foot at a time to step out of the clothes. 

His pregnancy hormones have left him especially amorous. If it were any other day (a day when Malcolm wasn't about to give birth), Gil helping undress him would absolutely lead to something more. Today though, Malcolm's body is bracing for pain.

Sex is the last thing on his mind.

"And no, not now," Malcolm smiles as he reaches out and takes his pants from Gil. They're still damp from the snowstorm, so he lays them over the back of one of the dinette chairs to dry overnight. "But I'm always a big fan of you stripping me down."

"I've noticed," Gil is still chuckling as he pulls his own outer layer of sweatpants off, along with his own doubled up socks, and follows suit in laying them all over the back of the chairs. Once they're both out of the wettest of their clothes, Gil turns back to Malcolm. "How are you doing, kid? Really."

Malcolm sucks in a breath and takes stock of his body. His back and hips are aching something fierce, but it's nothing that he can't handle. Their daughter is definitely awake and moving, but that's all he really feels inside at the moment. His stomach muscles are already just a little bit sore from the contractions, but again, it's nothing he can't handle.

The contractions themselves, on the other hand…

Those suck.

"I'm okay," Malcolm says sincerely, taking hold of Gil's hand and giving it a light squeeze. "The contractions are decidedly unpleasant, but we were expecting that. And right now I feel pretty good."

Gil leans in and kisses him softly, threading one hand into the back of Malcolm's hair while the other returns the gentle press to his fingers. "I'm glad to hear it. Is there anything I can do to help? To keep you comfortable?"

Malcolm melts at just how badly Gil wants to help, wants to be a part of the process and make sure Malcolm doesn't feel alone in this. 

"If you're offering," Malcolm says as he walks to the bed and sinks down with a sigh. The mattress is soft and wonderful and feels like sinking into a cloud. "A back massage would be lovely."

Gil heads directly for the basket of toiletries that Amelia provided, returning to the bedside with a small bottle of lotion, a hand towel, and a peck on the cheek for Malcolm.

"Are you comfortable there or do you want to lay down?" Gil drops the bottle and towel next to Malcolm's hip before bringing his hands to the buttons of Malcolm's shirt, fingers moving deftly to pop the buttons free and slide the shirt from his husband's shoulders.

Malcolm considers for a moment but decides that he needs to let the soup settle a little more before he attempts to lay down, besides which, he's surprisingly comfortable where he is.

"I'm good here."

As soon as Malcolm is down to just a pair of boxer briefs, Gil climbs onto the bed, kneeling on the mattress behind him. In a matter of seconds, he's squeezing lotion into his palm and rubbing his hands together to warm it up (little things like that make Malcolm love the man even more), before gliding his hands over Malcolm's back in slow, calming strokes.

And it feels glorious. 

The muscles in his lower back are already sore from the contractions and tense with anticipation of the next, but they begin to relax — _he_ begins to relax — as Gil works his hands over all of Malcolm's most tender spots, gently rubbing away the ache.

Gil works his entire back from tailbone to shoulders, lightly kneading any knots he discovers along the way, massaging until the next contraction takes hold and Malcolm jerks forward, his breath catching in his throat, hands fisting the sheets on either side of him. Gil's touch becomes far more tentative at that point, a warm presence more than an active back rub, but his hands never leave Malcolm's body and Malcolm couldn't be more grateful for the grounding touch as he forces himself to breathe through the discomfort.

This one seems to last a little longer, hit a little harder, and Malcolm worries what exactly that means. He's still holding out hope that he'll have an unusually long labour so that they can get to a hospital to have this baby.

Which is clearly the universe's way of having a laugh at his expense. 

Jessica regaled them not long ago with tales of her thirty-nine hour labour with Malcolm, and how stubborn he was about coming into the world on his own time. As they all sat around the table, laughing and sharing stories, Malcolm had insisted that their daughter was going to make things much easier on him. Two hours, he said. Two hours of labour pains and then he'd be holding his baby.

Now…

Now he's praying for that thirty-nine hour window.

And he can practically _hear_ Jessica's amused hum.

When the contraction finally fades away, Gil resumes his massage. This time, though, his hands move slower, more gentle, almost reverent in his touch.

"God, kid. You amaze me a little more every day," Gil whispers as his thumbs stroke over the sensitive skin between Malcolm's spine and hip bones, easing the tight pull of his muscles. "Your strength is remarkable, you know that?"

Malcolm ducks his head, flushing at the compliment, but he certainly appreciates it. He doesn't always feel especially strong (particularly over the last few weeks, since he stopped consulting with the NYPD in preparation for their baby), so hearing Gil say it is just the boost he needs to get through what's sure to be one of the most painful and trying experiences in his life.

"I mean it, Malcolm." Gil shuffles forward until his knees are bracketed on either side of Malcolm's hips and then wraps his arms around Malcolm, lotion-slick hands settling on the swell of his belly and rubbing gently (so, so gently). "Everything you've been through, everything you've accomplished. You're extraordinary. And that was before you even started growing our child inside of you. You're amazing, kid. And I love you so much."

"I love you, too," Malcolm says, turning his head towards Gil and capturing his lips in a tender kiss, sinking into the tickle of his whiskers against his skin. He whispers against Gil's mouth as he adds, "So much."

The next hour or so is spent in much the same way. Gil massages Malcolm between contractions, occasionally stopping to walk slow laps around the room as Malcolm's hips demand movement. Always, Gil is within a couple feet of Malcolm, if not touching him directly, and Malcolm feels warmth bloom in his chest at just how attentive he is.

It's on one of those laps around the barn, circling the furniture that's piled in the middle of the room, that Malcolm's water breaks. It stops him in his tracks, the warm gush of water between his legs taking him completely by surprise. 

"Fuck," he breathes, staring at the puddle on the floor.

Apparently, he thinks to himself, this is happening now.

"Ooookay," Gil breathes out, his grip around Malcolm's bicep tightening ever so slightly. "Okay."

They stand there for a moment, frozen with shock, the water spreading beneath their feet.

"Right. Okay. Let's get you settled, yeah?" Gil finally says, leading Malcolm back towards the bed.

"Actually," Malcolm stops just before they reach their destination, "I, uh, I feel kinda gross. I think I'll shower first?"

He doesn't mean for it to come out as a question, but it does anyways. He's not entirely sure what he's supposed to be doing. He should be heading to a hospital right now, where a team of doctors and nurses can tell him about the next steps. Tell him when to breathe and when to push. 

Doing this on his own is downright terrifying.

"Yeah. Of course," Gil says, giving his head a quick shake. "Let's go get you cleaned up." He leans in and presses a quick kiss to Malcolm's temple, and Malcolm suddenly remembers that he's not doing this alone at all.

He has Gil.

And his husband doesn't leave his side for a moment. Gil strips down in record time and then helps Malcolm step out of his boxer briefs, his hands barely leaving Malcolm's body the entire time. They enter the spacious shower stall together, though Malcolm eyes the large soaker tub with a tinge of regret.

"How about we come back in the summer?" Gil turns on the water, angling the shower head away from Malcolm until it's the perfect temperature. "We can try the tub out. See how the place looks when it's all done."

He shouldn't be surprised that Gil noticed his fondness for the massive bathtub. Gil seems to be entirely attuned to him at the moment. 

"That would be great," Malcolm sighs, relaxing as the water cascades over his skin. He closes his eyes and dips his head beneath the spray, forcing his muscles to relax as the heat wends its way into his bones. 

As soon as Malcolm pulls his head out of the water, Gil is there with a palmful of the most enticingly scented shampoo Malcolm has ever smelled. And as Gil massages it into Malcolm's hair, fingertips trailing along his scalp, the aroma only blossoms, filling the bathroom along with the steam.

"Mmmm," Malcolm smiles, dropping his head to Gil's shoulder as Gil continues to run his hands through Malcolm's hair. "That feels amazing. Smells incredible, too."

Gil hums in response and continues working the shampoo into Malcolm's hair at a lazy pace that almost makes Malcolm forget what's in store for him. Once Malcolm is covered in suds and entirely relaxed, Gil pulls back, just enough to grab a washcloth and the small bottle of body wash from the bench in the shower. He lathers it up and begins to lightly run it over Malcolm's skin, starting at his shoulders and working his way down, lingering over the swell of his stomach with a smile that makes Malcolm absolutely melt.

He moves down to Malcolm's legs next, dropping down to one knee to give Malcolm a good scrub and cleanse him of the amniotic fluid coating his legs, taking his time to cover him in the fragrant wash as he wipes down every inch of his bare skin. 

Malcolm is surprised by just how intimate the motion is, by just how close he feels to Gil as his husband cleanses him. 

It hits Malcolm hard how lucky he is to be starting a family with the man in front of him. A handful of years ago, he never would've dreamed that he'd be here now, spending his life with the man he's been in love with for years, about to give birth to their first child. But he couldn't possibly be happier with where his life has ended up.

Gil gives himself a quick wash before rinsing them both off, still with that same gentle touch that Malcolm can't get enough of. It isn't long before the water is turned off and Malcolm finds himself being dried off with a ridiculously soft, fluffy towel, right as his next contraction hits. 

They're definitely getting closer.

Once the pain has passed, once he feels like he can breathe again, Gil finishes drying them both off and leads them to the bed, getting Malcolm comfortably situated amongst the pillows that he props against the headboard. He even cuts open a couple of garbage bags, placing them beneath Malcolm's hips, covered with some of the fluffy towels to keep him comfortable.

When Malcolm arches an eyebrow, Gil shrugs and says, "We're gonna need to sleep here for at least one night."

It's a good point. Malcolm is more than happy to buy Amelia a new mattress, towels, and sheets to replace what they ruin, but there's a very real possibility that they'll be stranded for days, and lying on a blood soaked mattress sounds distinctly unappealing.

Once Gil finishes getting Malcolm positioned, he walks over to the duffle and pulls out the change of clothes that he'd packed for himself, slipping on the pants and undershirt but foregoing the sweater, then turning to Malcolm to ask, "Clothes?" 

"No. Thanks though." The idea of wearing anything constricting right now sounds absolutely awful.

With a small smile, Gil crawls into bed beside him, sitting up against the headboard to wrap an arm around his shoulders and tug him in close. It's funny, Malcolm thinks, just how easy it is to relax when he's curled up against Gil. The tension bleeds from his body as Gil lays his hand gently on Malcolm's belly and rests his head against Malcolm's.

"This is nice," Malcolm murmurs, letting his eyelids flutter closed. He knows the next few hours will be difficult and aims to enjoy the peaceful breaks while he can.

Gil merely hums and runs his fingers up and down Malcolm's arm in a way that soothes him even further and Malcolm suddenly wishes that they could have found this place under different circumstances, when they could have truly enjoyed each other's company.

But then his next contraction hits, and everything happens so quickly that he has no time to think about much of anything, really.

It feels like forever and yet little more than the blink of an eye before Malcolm finds himself bearing down, pushing through the contractions that are coming hard and fast as a terrified but determined Gil settles between his legs, ready as he can possibly be to deliver their baby.

"I can't believe we're about to have a baby," Gil sighs as Malcolm tries to catch his breath between contractions.

"Believe it," Malcolm huffs. "She's coming."

And then, in a matter of minutes (minutes of pushing and grunting and a startled Gil gasping, "I can see her head!"), she's there.

Slimy and squirming and crying out with a set of lungs that Malcolm thinks must take up her entire body.

And she's absolutely perfect.

"Hello, beautiful," Gil whispers. Malcolm watches through exhausted eyes as Gil cradles the tiny pink being, looking at her with a love that Malcolm would swear he can actually feel. "I'm your papa, and I love you so much. And this—" Gil shifts to lay her on Malcolm's chest, skin to skin, and then quickly lays a towel over her to keep her warm. "This is your daddy."

It's only when the tiny bundle on his chest is so blurred that he can barely even see her that Malcolm realizes he's crying. Warm tears trail down his face as he looks at this tiny, fragile life that he and Gil created, together, with love. He rests one hand gently on the back of her head and the other just over her bum and he's shocked to find that his hands actually touch.

She's so, so tiny.

Malcolm is vaguely aware of Gil moving around, digging through the toolbox in the kitchen and doing something at the stove, but he's so absorbed in the precious little girl on his chest that he really can't be bothered to pay attention.

At least, until Gil comes back with a couple of clamps and a pair of utility shears.

"They're sterilized. Don't worry." Gil is trying to keep his voice even, to sound completely sure of himself, but Malcolm can tell that he's incredibly nervous about cutting the cord.

Malcolm is nervous, too.

But the clamps slide in place easily and the scissors do their job (though Malcolm can see that Gil is surprised by just how difficult it is to cut through the umbilical cord) and before Malcolm knows it, he's no longer attached to his little girl.

His heart twinges at the thought, missing her a little even as she's laying on his chest.

Gil uses warm washcloths to get them all cleaned up, wiping away all of the blood and fluids from both Malcolm and their baby. Once they're passably clean, he covers Malcolm with one sheet and then swaddles their daughter in another.

Watching Gil with the bundled little girl in his arms is possibly the sweetest thing Malcolm has ever seen, and if he wasn't so overwhelmingly exhausted, he would try and find his phone to take a picture.

He's absolutely certain that Gil was meant to be a father.

"You did so well, sweetheart," Gil says as he perches a hip on the side of the bed next to Malcolm. He runs his fingers through Malcolm's sweat-damp hair, brushing it back from his face and somehow looking at Malcolm with the same intensity of love that he'd just been showing their daughter. "God, you were amazing."

With a gentle kiss to Malcolm's forehead, Gil hands their daughter back to Malcolm, helping him to lie back a little more now that the hard work is done, propping pillows on either side of him to help support his arms as he cradles the baby.

"Take a bit of a rest, sweetheart," Gil smiles softly.

Malcolm knows he'll need to deliver the placenta soon, and frankly, that terrifies him almost as much as having the baby did. He's done enough reading since discovering he was pregnant to know that delivering the placenta is the most dangerous aspect of a home birth for the parent. The chances of him hemorrhaging are too high for him to be entirely comfortable with the idea.

Not like he has any say in the matter.

For now, he takes Gil's advice and rests, closing his eyes and holding his daughter snug against his chest until a sudden gush of blood and the urge to push hits all over again.

"Gil." Malcolm's eyes snap open, but Gil is already beside him in bed, ready for the next step.

Thankfully, with Gil's help kneading his belly (which hurts like a bitch but helps to speed things along), everything goes quite smoothly. The placenta passes with an ease he wasn't expecting, and suddenly it's all over.

In no time at all, Gil has Malcolm cleaned up, removing the garbage bags and soiled towels and setting fresh towels beneath him. Malcolm appreciates it more than Gil probably knows. He's still in pain, but feeling clean at least allows him to relax and focus his energy on his new family.

"She's beautiful," Gil states as he crawls back into bed after washing himself up, laying on his side next to Malcolm and resting a hand on their daughter's back, half over Malcolm's.

Malcolm smiles, thinking just how much of an understatement that is. "She's perfect."

Gil chuckles, but Malcolm can tell he agrees completely. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore. But good. Happy to have her here," Malcolm says honestly. He's having trouble tearing his eyes away from her. It's still hard to believe that she's finally in his arms after months of carrying her in his belly.

"She has your mouth," Gil grins, lifting his hand to lightly stroke a finger over her lips. Even as she sleeps, her mouth opens up, chasing after a potential food source. Malcolm and Gil both laugh quietly at the movement, completely enraptured with every tiny thing she does.

She's obviously ready to eat, and Malcolm is filled with a flutter of nerves as he readies to feed her, hoping she latches on, praying things go smoothly, because he has no idea what they're supposed to do if they run into issues.

Fortunately, she seems to have inherited Gil's appetite rather than Malcolm's and quickly learns how to get the food she's obviously looking for. It's an overwhelmingly strange sensation for Malcolm, but it helps to reinforce his bond with her and he eases into it just as quickly as she does.

It's not long before she's had her fill and she falls asleep, still latched on but no longer suckling, and it only takes a moment to settle her back in the middle of Malcolm's chest before they're ready for bed.

And as they lay there, completely engrossed with the tiny human they somehow created, the storm outside finally begins to calm. The howling winds slowly die down, taking the patter of ice pellets against the windows along with it. By the time Malcolm falls asleep, with Baby Bright-Arroyo fast asleep on his chest and his husband curled around them both, the world has become blessedly silent.

Until a mewling cry wakes them both a mere two hours later.

And so begins their lives as new fathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an epilogue left now! I hope you've been enjoying their journey to become new fathers ❤


	4. Epilogue

Morning dawns crisp and cold and beautifully clear. They watch the growing daylight spill in through the window at the end of the room as Malcolm feeds their daughter once again, her tiny cries giving way to a contented suckling almost instantly. He's surprised how natural it feels already, like he was made for it.

When he finishes feeding this time, he asks Gil to grab his shirt from their duffle bag. The exhaustion that's weighing down his body leaves him with a bit of a chill, but with a shirt on (a maternity top which feels absurdly large, now that his baby bump no longer contains a baby), their daughter on his chest and his husband by his side, he's nice and warm before he even falls back asleep.

Some time later, a hesitant knock at the door wakes them both, though their little girl doesn't seem to hear it at all, remaining firmly asleep with her face smooshed against Malcolm's exposed collarbone. Malcolm tugs the blanket up over their daughter to ward off the cool air that's bound to blow in through the open door, while Gil pads across the room to let Amelia in. The older woman makes her way in with a tray in her hands, covered with a dish towel, and a warm smile on her face

"Good morning," she whispers as she follows Gil inside, allowing him to take the tray from her hands so she can remove her boots and coat. Malcolm suspects she's keeping her voice down in case he's asleep, but as soon as she looks past Gil to the bed in the middle of the room, she stops in her tracks, her hand flying to her mouth. "Goodness! You boys had quite the night, I see."

Malcolm offers her a tired but genuine smile as she makes her way into the room, taking the tray back from Gil to place it on the table before hurrying over to Malcolm with an ever-growing smile.

"How are you feeling, love?" Despite the hushed tones, Malcolm can clearly make out a sincere concern in her voice. "Did everything go smoothly? How's the baby?"

"We're both fine, thank you." Malcolm smiles, looking down at the perfect little girl on his chest. "It was...an experience. But we made it through. Together."

"Well that doesn't surprise me in the slightest," Amelia grins, gazing down at the baby with a soft expression that fills Malcolm with a comforting warmth. "Is there anything I can get for you? Or for your beautiful little girl? I brought you and your husband some breakfast, but I'd be happy to help in any way I can."

"Have you heard anything about the road conditions?" Gil asks as he folds their clothes from the back of the dining chairs, stuffing them into the duffle bag. Malcolm watches as he pauses with his sweatpants in hand, looking over to Malcolm before tossing them onto the bed, clearly realizing the drawstring waist and ultra-soft fabric will be preferable to Malcolm's maternity pants when it comes time to put them on. Malcolm loves him just a little bit more for it.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Amelia's gaze is still locked on the little girl as she answers Gil. Malcolm doesn't blame her in the slightest. "I got through to the sheriff's station to inform them of your condition, and they said the ploughs are already out, clearing the roads. They'll be sending an ambulance just as soon as it's safe.”

"Thank God," Gil whispers, his body slumping with relief where he leans up against the side of the bed. Malcolm's just as eager to have their daughter looked over as Gil, but he also knows that Gil is far more worried about Malcolm than he's letting on. Delivering a placenta is tricky business and Gil is undoubtedly worried that he did it wrong, that something was left behind which could cause complications.

Amelia offers a smile and a wink to Malcolm as she leans in and lays a gentle hand on the back of the baby's head. Her words are spoken quietly enough that Gil, as he continues buzzing around the room, is completely unaware of them. "He truly is a worrywart, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Malcolm chuckles, equally as quiet. "And I love him for it."

"He seems like one of the good ones."

Both of them track Gil's movements as he makes his way to the kitchen and fills up a glass of water. Malcolm already knows it's for him.

"He really is."

"Really is what?" Gil asks as he walks over, glass of water in hand. As expected, he hands it to Malcolm with a quick kiss to his forehead, trading the drink for the baby so Malcolm can lever himself up in bed and take a few sips. Once he's had his fill, Gil takes the glass back and sets it on the table, then moves to the sofa to change the baby's makeshift diaper (this time using a pillowcase), and Malcolm notes the goofy grin on Gil's face with a flood of affection.

Amelia, meanwhile, busies herself in the kitchen, grabbing plates and cutlery from the cupboards to give Malcolm and Gil a moment to right themselves. Malcolm uses the time to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, intending to slip Gil's sweatpants on while Gil and Amelia are otherwise occupied.

He doesn't get very far with it.

He's...tender. It's to be expected, he knows, but it's surprising just how much it hurts to move. And it must show on his face, too, because Gil quickly tucks their daughter into the corner of the sofa and rushes to his side, crouching down in front of him to help slip the pants on. Once he's dressed with the drawstrings pulled just tight enough to keep from falling off, Gil wraps an arm around his waist and leads him to the sofa, cautiously lowering him onto the cushions. It takes some adjustment and a carefully placed pillow or two to find a moderately comfortable position, but as soon as he's settled, Gil is handing their daughter to him and the ache doesn't even matter anymore.

Amelia sits with them as they eat breakfast, cooing over the baby and asking about their night, assuring them they don't need to worry about the sheets and mattress and towels that they've ruined. Conversation flows easily between the three of them, and Malcolm practically inhales the food, ravenous from his earlier exertions. He even goes so far as to accept seconds when Amelia offers, much to Gil's amusement.

She leaves them alone soon after, with a promise to keep them posted on the road conditions and rescue, and a vow to come back with more food (and coffee, much to Gil's delight) once she gets the rest of her houseguests sorted out.

With time to kill and cell service back up, they have a number of calls to make, assuring everyone that they're safe and sharing the good news about the newest member of their family. They end up snapping some pictures to send as they realize that's the first thing everyone seems to ask for, once they hear that all three of them are well. Oddly enough, Dani and Ainsley are the only ones who comment on the pillowcase-turned-diaper, but even then, both women coo over the sheer beauty of their daughter. JT teases them about still not having a name picked out (though his joy for them is evident in the tone of his voice, even through the light-hearted ribbing). Jessica insists they come over as soon as the roads are cleared and Malcolm and the baby have been checked out, her excitement about being a grandmother nearly tangible over the staticy phone line.

The conversations lead to a number of happy tears shed by both Malcolm and Gil, and some fussing from the baby as the excited squeals of her aunties break the quiet of the barn. Only a few calls in, Gil ends up with Malcolm and their daughter half on his lap, nestled together as a family, both men staring down at their daughter like she hung the stars as they speak to their friends and family.

Eventually — after all the calls have been made and the baby's been fed and changed once again — they move back to the bed. Aside from getting up for an absolutely amazing lunch, courtesy of their generous host, they stay snuggled together for much of the day, waiting for help to arrive.

"You know," Gil says quietly as the afternoon trickles on, the light in the barn growing slowly dimmer as the day wanes. They haven't left each other's arms in hours and Malcolm is just fine with that. It's pretty obvious that Gil is head over heels in love with their little girl and Malcolm is more than happy to stay like this forever, affection blooming in his chest as Gil leans in to place a gentle kiss on the baby's head. "JT isn't wrong. We're going to have to land on a name for her at some point."

The first few months of the pregnancy had been a volley of names tossed back and forth, day in and day out, but as time went on, they agreed to wait until they had the opportunity to meet their little girl before choosing the name she'd carry for the rest of her life.

Malcolm knows, better than most, the difference that a name can make.

"We will," Malcolm yawns, his body instinctively curling towards Gil. Having a baby is exhausting and he feels like he could sleep for days. "When we get home."

Gill chuckles and pulls him even closer. "Okay, sweetheart. Why don't you rest a while?"

He does. They all do, really. And it isn't long before the roads are cleared enough for a medic to arrive and escort them to the nearest hospital. After a detailed medical examination, they discover that Malcolm and Gil worked as brilliantly together in childbirth as they do everything else.

Malcolm and their daughter are both in perfect health.

It takes a little longer to be given the all clear, but they finally get released and are allowed to head home. It's surreal, knowing that they left their home as a family of two, and are returning as a family of three, but Malcolm couldn't possibly be happier. As they walk through the front door, Malcolm is reminded of all the last minute details that they still needed to do around the house, things they were planning on finishing when they got home from their mini-vacation. Things they thought they still had time to do before the baby was born.

Instead of focusing on any of that, though, they head right for the living room, leaving the duffle bag and all their worries at the front door. Gil settles into the corner of the sofa, one leg against the back and the other foot planted firmly on the floor, leaving ample space for Malcolm and the baby to settle in the vee of his legs. And as Malcolm relaxes into place, his back against Gil's chest with their daughter in his arms, he thinks just how nice it is to be home.

"I love you, kid," Gil says quietly, wrapping his arms around Malcolm, careful not to disturb their little girl.

Malcolm leans his head back, angling for a quick peck on the lips, and is granted his wish immediately. Gil leans in to kiss the words right from Malcolm's lips. "I love you, too."

Safe in the comfort of their own home, knowing that they're all healthy and secure, Malcolm thinks it's time to finally name their little girl. There were names that were at the top of both of their lists, of course, but looking at her now, Malcolm thinks there's one that might just be perfect. A name that feels like kindness and love and everything he could possibly want for his daughter.

"I was thinking," Malcolm says slowly.

"Always dangerous."

Gil chuckles as Malcolm elbows him lightly in the ribs, but the gentle squeeze around Malcolm's body is encouragement enough to continue.

"What do you think of Jacqueline Amelia," Malcolm asks, shifting slightly to look back at Gil, reading his expression as he takes in the name. Jacqueline, for Jackie, who loved them both with a ferocity that could hardly be contained, and Amelia for the woman that took them in and gave them a safe place to introduce their daughter to the world.

A number of emotions flash across Gil's face, but the genuine smile that pulls at his lips and crinkles his eyes tells Malcolm that they've just named their daughter.

Gil kisses him softly, pouring all of his love into the simple gesture. When Gil eventually pulls back, sporting misty eyes and an expression of utter joy, he looks down at their daughter who is fast asleep once again.

"Welcome home, Jacqueline Amelia."

A contented little sigh spills from her lips like an approval of their choice, and just like that, it's settled.

The journey may have been a little bumpy, but with the help of a few minor miracles, their family is finally complete.

~~~

(Six months later, when they head back to the B&B to spend four nights in the fully finished barn-conversion, Amelia welcomes them like family, overjoyed to see them once again. Their stay is far less dramatic the second time around, but no less perfect, and that little B&B that appeared like a beacon on one of the most terrifying nights Malcolm and Gil ever faced becomes a permanent fixture in their lives. A home away from home. And a reminder that, together, they can do anything.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to KateSamantha for looking this one over! 
> 
> Also, Kate insists that I tell the world that the misspelling of duffle is entirely my own fault and that she takes no responsibility for my stubborn refusal to change it to duffel 🤣🤣🤣


End file.
